


Potter Pops The Cherry

by leakywitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leakywitch/pseuds/leakywitch
Summary: With the first year back at Hogwarts after the fall of Voldemort, and an important visit of delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang looming, McGonagall has enough to deal with without a fantastic rumour going around that the lord and saviour of the wizarding world has lost his virginity – in the fifth floor prefect's bathroom, no less.





	1. Chapter 1

It was, up to that point, an ordinary week. A good week… a progressive week. Yes, only that morning the largest insta-swamp yet had appeared in the main courtyard, and yes, Trelawney had found an alligator in her classroom on Wednesday, but nobody had blown up a toilet, none of the first years had turned into hippopotamuses in the corridor, and Seamus Finnigan had not set himself on fire even once.

Someone - McGonagall suspected several someones - had been testing new Weasley Wheezes products and generally wreaking havoc all that year, but neither McGongall nor the other professors had the heart to put a stop to it. The students seemed to enjoy having new and strange things turn up at Hogwarts on a weekly basis; anything that put a smile on their faces after the events of the previous year was a good thing in McGonagall's books. And it _was_ funny when Ron Weasley couldn't stop tap dancing for two days, even if they did have to send him to St Mungo's in the end.

McGonagall hoped the pranks were calming down for the upcoming visit of delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. An important visit, and the students damn well knew it. The preparations had been in place for months; McGonagall was double checking last minute details now. Tweaking the week-long schedule, ensuring all requests would be met, double checking spell procedures. They'd be putting up a three-layer defence shield over Hogwarts which with the strongest magic from all three schools of magic; the original shield - put up by the founders themselves - had been destroyed by Voldemort, and whilst the Aurors had put up a strong shield after the battle, this would be more permanent, and only penetrable by someone with deep expertise in all three cultures of magic, so rare it was almost unthinkable.

She was nearly at the end of her checklist and letters, and the April light was draping itself over her office in a way that made her want to go take a walk around the lake, or kick some Slytherin ass on the Quidditch pitch like she was sixteen. It had always been her favourite kind of light in all her years at Hogwarts: denser and warmer than winter light, but not as heavy as deep summer heat.

There was one more thing she had to do before she could take that walk. She'd received a new application for the Potions' position. Snape's replacement was a lovely young woman called Eleanor Sweet, who was at this point unfortunately eight months pregnant, which meant a replacement had to be found for Snape's replacement. And Britain suddenly seemed devoid of decent Potions professors. So if she didn't find one soon, she'd have to hire the one with Snape's hair and Slughorn's drinking problem, which is an outcome nobody wanted.

There was a knock and before McGonagall had time to answer, the door opened and a tray appeared through it, followed by the hearty figure of Lydia, Hogwart's new head cook.

"Oh Minerva – I have such things to tell you – such things –" the woman started, setting the tray down on top of all of Minerva's papers and pouring tea into what she knew was McGonagall's favourite cup.

McGonagall sighed. Usually, she loved Lydia's home-made peppermint tea, and the way she served it with a delicious slice of Hogwarts cake, cream and fresh gossip (a headmistress needs to know what is going on in her school, after all – every little detail), but she was so close to being finished –

"Lydia, I really appreciate this –"

"No, no, Minerva," she said, shoving a plate piled with cake into McGonagall's quill-less hand, "you must hear it –"

"Lydia, really –"

The woman smacked her hands down onto the table, looking at McGonagall with sheer determination. "Potter lost his virginity!" she cried shrilly. "In the prefects bathroom on the fifth floor! Everyone has gone absolutely gaga!"

For a moment, McGonagall disbelieved her ears. Cake and quill hung suspended in the air. "But what... how..."

"Moaning Myrtle!" said the cook, taking the quill out of the headmistress' frozen hand and replacing it with a spoon, "The whole school knows about it! It's chaos out there!"

"Potter lost his virginity to Myrtle?" said McGonagall weakly.

"Oh goodness no," the cook laughed, "How would that even work? No - she broke the news. Was floating around the castle, she was, all day, screaming about it. Didn't take long for it to catch on with the students – oh Minerva, do eat your cake before it gets cold – anyway, as I was saying, the everyone's got quite overexcited about it – dinner was such chaos we almost had to get you but it calmed down when we started with the detentions –"

"Why wasn't I called?" said McGonagall, "if there was such disorder –"

"Well you said you were not to be disturbed today, and the heads agreed we could quite handle it, you've got enough on your plate already." And with a self-satisfied air, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down into one of the chairs around the desk.

"But –"

"Never mind that!" interrupted the portrait of Amrose Swott from the wall, "with whom did the boy do the deed?!"

A number of the other portraits shouted out agreements of wishing to know, and the rest, all wide awake, nodded or simply listened with intent interest. McGonagall's gaze flicked to Dumbledore's portrait, and he gave a brief chortle, eyes glistening even in paint.

"That's the thing!" Lydia gushed, "The wretched Myrtle girl won't tell! Said she promised she wouldn't!"

"How can it be so," cried Antonia Creaseworthy's portrait, "that she'll tell the whole school that Potter – er, well – but not who with?"

"Well of course we questioned the same thing!" exclaimed the cook, "she said that _technically_ she didn't say that she wouldn't tell anyone that Potter had been playing brooms and Quidditch goals, _only_ that she wouldn't tell anyone that the mystery person had been in the prefects bathroom with Potter!"

At this, the portraits erupted into intense, scandalous discussion, and McGonagall sat back and started shovelling cake into her mouth out of desperation.

"Getting off on a technicality? How peculiar!" Somebody's portrait asserted from the far end of the office.

"She must really dislike that Potter to be so harsh to him! Poor boy, I say!" Someone else added.

"My my, she must be friends with the girl who went swimming with Potter! Although I dare say I can't imagine they'd be on very good terms at the moment..." A third said.

"But why!" cried Amrose Swott again, "I was under the impression Potter was seeing that Weasley girl!"

"So was I, so was I!" cried Lydia right back, "but apparently not! In fact, she's not even in Britain at this very moment, is she, Minerva?"

"She's in France with her brother and sister-in-law," confirmed McGonagall. She put her plate down and sat back into her chair. However much she didn't want to be, she had to admit she was just as curious as the rest of them as to who Potter had been seeing. "It couldn't possibly be Miss Granger, could it? I mean I know she and Weasley were seeing each other, but..."

"Oh no no," said Lydia instantly, "Flitwick went to look for Potter the instant this whole thing began, see. He assumed he'd just ask him, and the boy would confirm it was just a rumour and this whole thing would be over and dealt with. _But_ " - her voice dropped to a conspirator's whisper - "as he was around the corner from Potter and Granger, he overheard her telling him off for not being careful enough! And the Potter boy was swearing that he had been – that they _had only used the bathroom when they were sure nobody else was going to_ , he said... and that was when Flitwick spotted Peeves, who had also overheard the conversation –"

"Oh Merlin –" said McGonagall.

"– And then the _real_ chaos began..." Lydia was bright red in her excitement of such juicy going-ons. "Peeves loves a gossip as much as I! Anyway, it couldn't be the Granger girl – only last week Irma caught her kissing Weasley in the library – my, you should have heard her go on about it! Well, you know what Irma's like with her library and her books..."

Minerva picked up her now-lukewarm cup of peppermint tea, pressed it to her lips and pressed herself as far down her chair as she could go without disappearing. There was absolutely no chance of getting any more work done tonight. Or that weekend, really.

Or probably even that week.

Lydia and the portraits chortled on.

"We've got to deal with this as soon as possible," said McGonagall, "The delegates must hear as little as possible about the whole deal..."

"Don't worry," said Lydia, stuffing some cake into her mouth, "kids are just very excitable. I'm sure it'll die down in no time."

* * *

If there's such a thing as a bad-news hangover, McGonagall had one the following morning. When she awoke, the first thing that hit her, and hit her like a blinding headache, was the memory Potter and the Merlin-damned bathroom incident. What on earth had the boy been thinking?

She got dressed and summoned her favourite house elf, Dumpy, with a quick flick of her wand. Dumpy was an extra pair of ears and eyes for McGonagall, and a rather good set too. An elf could innocently mind their own business cleaning up common rooms and staff rooms with all sorts of conversations going on in the background.

They bid each other good morning, and then McGonagall asked if Dumpy had heard anything of use.

"No, Mistress," said the elf, "nobody outside Potter's closest friendship group knows what happened, or with whom it happened. Many rumours, but an aged house elf knows rumour from truth alright. And Dumpy can't get anywhere near Potter's friends without zipped lips - the Granger girl knows Dumpy acts as your personal aide. It seems that she has instructed the others to not speak a peep around Dumpy or the other elves."

McGonagall nodded. She thought that might be the case. "Thank you Dumpy, I appreciate your help in these matters."

She fished a few sour toffees out of a nearby draw for Dumpy as the elf added: "Mistress - the other elves have told Dumpy, and Dumpy has seen with his own eyes - that the students are acting like what Professor Snape used to call thems…"

"Imbeciles?" said McGonagall automatically.

"An uncontrolled pack of rabid pixies," Corrected Dumpy.

McGonagall sighed, and let Dumpy go with his sour toffees. She popped one in her own mouth and looked in the mirror before she left her bedroom. Pursed lips, narrowed eyes, terrifying finger wag. Good.

Itinerary of the day was as such: stare down students over breakfast; finalise the menu for the grand ball at the end of the ambassadors' stay; stare down students in the corridors; deal with a few troubled kids; reply to letters; stare down students over dinner; do her weekly check-up on all the house elves, and do the weekly round-up of gossip and other things-you-ought-to-know. Saturday night was always spent squeezing news out of professors and Hogwarts staff. No such thing as knowing too much about what was going on in one's own school.

Moving to her office, she opened letters for a few minutes before breakfast, waiting for the knock. It came bang on 8 o'clock, as prescribed.

"Good morning Mr Malfoy, how are you?" she said, as Malfoy entered. He was dressed in his usual uptight black robes. They exchanged formalities and McGonagall offered him a pot of floo powder, of which he took a handful.

"What time should I be back?" he asked.

"Between five and five-thirty as usual, Mr Malfoy."

He nodded and stepped in the fireplace. "Malfoy Manor." A whoosh of green flames, and he was gone.

As McGonagall left for breakfast, Dumpy's words echoed in her mind. The third year Ravenclaws she passed had a demented gleam in their eyes, the kind a malicious Slytherin gets when they've just learnt a spell that makes you slap yourself in the face repeatedly. And Ravenclaws were usually the _sensible_ ones about these things.

Nearing the great hall, McGonagall spotted that one of those malicious Slytherins was already up to no good. Potentia Barnus had her favourite victim, a poor Hufflepuff from her potions class, hanging upside down in mid-air.

"For Merlin's sake, Potentia!" Shouted McGonagall down the corridor. "It's not even breakfast yet! Put him down!"

Barnus' eyes widened and she promptly dropped him, running off in the opposite direction as her flock of Slytherins laughed even more manically than usual. McGonarie, the Hufflepuff, got up and gave a wave to signify he was uninjured. McGonagall sighed and made a mental note to give Barnus extra detention when she next caught her. It was a minor miracle it was a weekend, because students became unteachable when they got like this.

Entering the hall confirmed McGonagall's worst fears. It was much fuller than usual at this time; no doubt, everyone had come down early to gossip in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Potter. Needless to say, he wasn't there. The stench of teenage hormones filled the air, and clung to the walls.

The walls. The statues. The benches made of rare wood from the magical forests of Romania.

This was the other reason why the delegates were coming. To be thanked for their contribution to rebuilding Hogwarts; at the pinnacle of which was a stunning new great hall, a new jewel of only the finest gifts and materials that the schools had to offer. The same gifts she could she could see a Gryffindor first year carving his name on. She lightly smacked him around the head for it as she walked past.

At the head of the hall, as there was before, was the staff table. At it, sat a very concerned Pamona Sprout.

"I have never, in all my years at Hogwarts," she said as McGonagall sat down beside her, "heard such lewd things discussed in the corridors. Have you seen the papers this morning?"

McGonagall began shovelling porridge into a bowl as Pamona produced a stack of papers and magazines.

In the third week of Harry's return to Hogwarts, the public was seemingly so starved for news of the saviour that the Daily Prophet felt it appropriate to publish a nearly three-page article on what he had been spotted eating at Hogwarts, with an exclusive interview with a healer who talked about whether she thought this diet was appropriate for the strong recovery of the boy who lived.

So, predictably, news of his sexual exploits had blown up like Weasley Wizarding Wheezes fire popper colliding head on with a particularly vicious firework spell. The papers which lay on the table bore increasingly crude and increasingly bad headlines:

_WHICH WITCH GOT A FLAVOUR OF THE SAVIOUR?_

_HOGWARTS GHOST GETS AN EYE ON THE BOY WHO WOULDN'T DIE – GETTING DIRTY IN THE BATHROOM_

Witch's Weekly, popular with many of the young witches of Hogwarts, mercifully stopped at, _JUST WHEN WE THOUGHT POTTER COULDN'T GET ANY HOTTER_ , no doubt only to be eschewed by pupils who would prefer Rita Skeeter's expose: _DID POTTER KNOCK A GIRL UP IN THE BATHTUB? RITA SKEETER REVEALS ALL._

"What are we to do, Minerva?" said Pamona.

"Be stern when needed. Give detentions. It'll calm down soon."

McGonagall wasn't sure she even believed herself. Several students were watching her too carefully, as if they were trying to lip-read for any extra details which they could spread around.

McGonagall pursed her lips at them.

After breakfast, she headed towards the kitchens to finalise the menus. Just as she was about to turn a corner near the back kitchen door, McGonagall overhead two familiar, hushed voices in the next corridor. They were heading towards her.

"Mate, I didn't say be _stupid_ about it. You know about Myrtle. Hermione always casts a Mew's enchantment when we –"

"Ron, I do not need to know what you and Hermione do."

If they could have, McGonagall's eyes would have popped out of her head. The footsteps were close now, and McGonagall did the only thing she could think of and turned onto a cat. She quickly jumped onto the nearest window sill and started cleaning her tail, as if that's what she'd been doing all along.

Potter and Weasley walked past. McGonagall was about to relax when one of the footsteps abruptly stopped.

"That… that isn't McGonagall is it?" said Potter. McGonagall continued cleaning with as much casual air as she could muster.

"Nah mate, McGonagall wouldn't be licking her own arse in the corridor. You're just being paranoid. C'mon."

After they were safely gone, McGonagall transformed back with a huff. Licking her own arse! She would have to find a reason to give Weasley detention.

McGonagall ended up spending far too much time finalising the menu - stupid Madame Deliote, with her four foot parchment of requests - and she had had to run from commitment to commitment after that.

By the time McGonagall got back to her office at 4 o'clock, she was already exhausted. She brewed herself some very strong black tea, and sat down to tediously reply to a pile of letters and queries. Shortly past five, the fireplace lit up bright green, and Malfoy stepped out, looking considerably more pale and harassed. McGonagall wondered what on earth had happened. Mostly, Malfoy's trips home to see his family did him a world of good as they were a well-needed break from the vengeful and hateful watch of his fellow students.

At first, the visits outside of Hogwarts were for the Wizengamot trials. The Malfoy family were quickly spared due to the particular efforts of some individuals, including Harry, whose life had been saved by Narcissa Malfoy. Later, Narcissa and Lucius personally came to Hogwarts to ask for occasional evening and weekend visits home for Draco to rebuild their family and life. Many families asked for this, and McGonagall could not refuse.

Of all the regular trips throughout the year after the trials, none had Malfoy coming out looking worse than when he went.

"Good day, Mr Malfoy?"

"Er, yes. Very. Thank you." The words came out like chewed sand, and he was out of the door before McGonagall could say anymore.

McGonagall would have probably thought about it more, but the fireplace lit up once again, this time with a firecall. It was Madame Deliote.

"Darling, darling darlinnnnnng!" She screeched into the call, French accent colliding head on with an attempt to pronounce British words in the poshest manner possible, "How wonderous it is to see you, as you English say!"

"I'm not English," muttered McGonagall.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Madame Deliote, flourishing her arms so widely that her sleeves nearly caught fire, "I call to say zat Rosemarie can no longer make it. Terrible case of Jaquette's Fever, and she vould not vant to infect the children…"

She carried on talking, but McGonagall no longer bothered listening. Rosemarie was the other main Beauxbatons delegate, and one of McGonagall's closest childhood friends. McGonagall had been desperately looking forward to having her here for a week.

"…Anyway, Marcus is coming instead."

McGonagall snapped back into the conversation.

"Marcus... Giovanni?" she said, feeling the blood start to drain out of her face.

"Yes yes, of course. He vill be more than capable of ze spells, non?"

"Yes... Very capable..." said McGonagall.

"Good! I will be coaching him on vat Rosemarie and I have prepared myself," said Madam Damont, sounding irritatingly pleased with herself, "and we vill see you soon enough!"

They said goodbye, and McGonagall slunk deep into her chair. Giovanni. Marcus Giovanni.

Merlin, as if McGonagall didn't have enough on her plate. Somewhere in the background, she could have sworn she heard a toilet blowing up.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly a week since the Potter fiasco had come to light. It had reached such a point of infamy that even the Minister had made a public statement about it after a few days, saying: "Now I know everyone is rather animated about Potter popping the cherry, but this is a private matter... don't you think the boy deserves some respect after all he's done?"

Apparently, the answer was no. In fact, it was suffice to say pretty much the only thing anybody took away from the statement was cherry-popping: a saying Kingsley had inadvertently picked up while he was working undercover to protect the Muggle Prime Minister; and one the entire wizarding world seemed to jump on and incorporate into their regular vocabulary within the space of three days.

Shortly thereafter, a famous sexolowitch ("I'm a sexologist _and_ I'm a witch – therefore, I'm a sexolowitch," the woman had purred in her subsequent interview with Rita Skeeter) had published a rather graphic article entitled _POTTER POPS THE CHERRY: Minister, shall we talk about the saviour's cock?_ which had spread like fiendfyre across the school despite all of McGonagall's best efforts.

Even the Quibbler, which had been the only media outlet not to publish anything Potter-related the morning the scandal came out (instead going for: _Nargles and the Muggle Satan – are they one and the same after all?_ ), couldn't resist later publishing an article about how the alignment of the stars meant that a great hero was meant to 'get physical with his destiny' all along.

The papers were only part of the problem. The students themselves seemed to be endlessly creative about the matter.

Someone – and if McGonagall found out who, she would give them detention until the end of their Hogwarts days – had coined a song, which had been propagated across the school to such an extent that you almost couldn't walk down a corridor without hearing it.

It was not a singing song. It was a yelling song. One you yelled like a drunk wizard on a firewhiskey spree – something which Minerva found out school-aged children could do very well.

_WHO BANGED THE BOY WHO LIVED? NOOOOOOBODY KNOWS. BUT IF WE FIND OUT, WE'LL RESPECT HER NO DOUBT, BECAUSE SHE'S THE ONE WHO POTTER CHOOOOOOSE... AND SHE'S THE ONE WHO GOT THE SAAAAAVIOUUUUR... OUT OF HIS CLOTHES!_

It barely rhymed and it sounded terrible, and McGonagall felt sorry for Potter when she wasn't begrudged that he wasn't able to just keep it in his pants.

Worse still, the notoriety of the entire thing combined with Potter's popularity had sparked a new fashion amongst sixth and seventh years to also lose their virginity, preferably either in the Prefect's bathroom, in Myrtle's toilet, or simply in the most outrageous ways possible. They called it 'Getting Pottered', or 'Potting the Cherry'. Myrtle floated around the castle complaining that she was now having to find other bathrooms to haunt because everyone keeps doing the most outrageous things in hers. Filch was reminding everyone that he still had his old torture implements on a daily basis.

On Friday, McGonagall was prowling the castle in her cat form when she walked into a conversation between two obviously quite confused first years.

"Do you think you'll ever pop your cherry?" said the first one, a Gryffindor messing nervously with his tie, "I mean, it sounds awfully painful..."

"I don't know," said the second, a Slytherin who seemed to be putting on rather a lot of bravado, "my brother told me it felt great when you put brooms into holes..."

"Well if you think about it, _brooms_ don't go into the holes – the QUAFFLES do..." said the nervous Gryffindor, and suddenly his eyes widened in a horrified manner, "But – but doesn't that mean you can only do it twice? Cause I only got two!" He then quickly added: "How many do you have?"

"You only have two?" said the Slytherin, "I have loads. Yeah... tons... I guess you're going to be one of the really unlucky ones who can only do it twice."

McGonagall winced as she listened to this. They still hadn't realised she was there, but McGonagall had realised that sex education was desperately lacking.

She'd only just got back to her office after _that_ enlightening conversation when Pamona Sprout turned up dragging two fifth years who had been found 'rolling around in the cabbage patch'. Katie Davidson and Mark Finkleberry did both look very muddy, and rather red.

"But Professor!" said Katie Davidson when McGonagall asked them if they understood quite how much of a disgrace this was, "Everyone is doing it! Barnus and McGonarie nearly did it in a fountain the other day!"

Potentia Barnus was the pureblood Slytherin whose number one hobby was hexing poor Linus McGonarie, Hufflepuff of the Hufflepuffiest kind. "I highly doubt that, Katie, given their track record for getting into fights."

"But Professor, it's true! Weird as Merlin's hairy blue balls – but true! And even if you don't believe they did it – you can be sure Antonia Reel and Al –"

"Okay that's quite enough Miss Davidson."

Miss Davidson looked affronted. She crossed her arms, sunk back into her chair and sulkingly proclaimed, "I heard even Granger and Weasley did it in the library once."

McGonagall tried not to show any emotion in regards to that. "Finkleberry, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Detention. Both of you. For three weeks."

"But -"

"And worry not, Miss Davidson, should anyone else be caught, they will be getting a severe punishment also."

After the two of them had been sent off, Pamona sat down opposite McGonagall and grinned a little.

"Thank Merlin they don't know about that time _you_ had a romp in the cabbage patch, eh?" she said.

McGonagall tried to keep her face straight as she said, "We all do stupid things when we're young."

"Minerva, you were forty-two."

* * *

She gathered the staff in the staff room that evening.

They came in apprehensively, wondering what on earth McGonagall might possibly have to say with such a steeled look on her face. Even Trelawney, who was overenthusiastically blabbering on about one of her students being a seer (which, as far as McGonagall could tell, meant that the poor child had looked into a teacup, and, by perfect chance, predicted it would rain that afternoon. Mind, they were in Scotland - it had not stopped raining for more than three consecutive hours for over sixty years) reverted back to her nervous self. Professor Sweet plodded in last, arms around her heavily pregnant stomach. McGonagall eyed her with an unnerved look. And talking of babies...

"As I'm sure you're all aware, the recent Potter happenings have left a lot of students either very confused or, to be frank, possibly practicing unsafe… relations," she said, "Many parents are concerned. It is my belief we must teach the students about safe sex."

McGonagall might as well have said she would like the professors to strip down, do the tango and go skinny dipping in the lake that night for all the looks she got.

"I understand this will not be easy for you. There are several options. Either one person is designated to talk about it, or we do it by heads of house..."

Everyone who was not a head of house looked instantly relieved. Pamona went red. Flitwick looked like he would rather retire.

After an extended period of painful silence, a very droning voice spoke up from one end of the room:

"In the 16th century," said Cuthbert Binns, the long dead and notoriously boring History of Magic teacher, "we used to have to educate the children on these matters after the big baby boom of 1597 happened... Of course, anti-touching spells were invented shortly afterwards. Sadly considered unethical these days."

"Professor Binns," said McGonagall, "are you... are you volunteering to teach the children about these matters?"

Binns looked unmoved. "Just biology," he said, "just biology, as our headmistress back then would say."

* * *

The following day they announced this educational session to the students, and that evening McGonagall had a meeting with Potter to discuss plans for the visit, as he was, of course, expected to attend every dinner and function, what with being The Chosen One. It was the first time she had seen him since the news had come to light, and he avoided meeting her eyes for most of it. When they came to the end of the meeting, there was a curt silence when they knew one of them had to say something about The Thing.

"Professor, about last week," said Potter, looking firmly at his feet, "I can explain…"

The fireplace lit up green with the floo system, making them both jump. Draco Malfoy stumbled out. McGonagall stood up.

"Mr Malfoy," she said, "you're not supposed to be back until nine today."

"Yes," he said, "I'm early. Sorry."

McGonagall frowned. The boy looked awfully pale and harassed. He spotted Harry sitting in the office, recoiled a little and then all but ran out of the room.

Potter was on his feet. "I have to go," he said, eyes darting towards the direction Malfoy had gone in.

McGonagall didn't even have a chance to respond before he was moving towards the exit. As a goodbye she yelled the only think she could think of: "Potter! I fully expect you to be at Professor Binns' educational lecture tomorrow morning!"

She saw Potter look utterly panicked before he disappeared through the door.

The speech was held on Sunday morning, after breakfast. Potter spent most of it practically under the table in his attempts to make himself invisible.

Binns turned out to be a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he was actually so dull that no less than two students fell asleep, and a curse because… well, the problem was less what he said, and more what he _didn't_ say.

There were diagrams of the human anatomy. There were sermons into the misfortunes of sexually transmitted diseases. There was - and oh, how McGonagall cringed every time she thought about it - a section on sexual technique. And not just for humans either - merpeople, vampires, veelas and animagi were all mentioned. McGonagall learnt more than she would ever, ever _, ever_ want to know.

After two hours, Binns finally seemed to be coming to an end. McGonagall stood up, ran to the front and said, "Thank you for that Professor Binns! Now -"

Binns seemed not to hear her, and carried on: "Now, for those of you who, like myself, prefer the same sex to the opposite..."

The sleeping students jolted awake. Even the professors looked far too interested. McGonagall groaned and sat back down.

By the time it was over, she was sure that she could never look at a tongue without shuddering for as long as she lived.

* * *

The day before delegates were due to arrive, McGonagall gathered the entire school in the hall at breakfast. Slowly, with her best 'I'm deadly, cross me at your own peril' face, she walked up to the podium.

"Students," she said to the hushed mass before her, "as you know, our esteemed guests will be arriving tomorrow morning. I expect you to all be outstanding representatives of Hogwarts.

"Now, I know there has been some... excitement... around certain events in the school recently," students starting sniggering, and McGonagall saw Potter wince in the audience, "but should _anyone_ dare _mention_ it over the forthcoming fortnight anywhere even remotely in ear shot within our guests – I promise you, you shall regret it very deeply."

The sniggering stopped.

"So if anyone has any stupidity in them that must be released, by Merlin you better do it before tomorrow morning, or else look forward to detention for the rest of the _year_. Enjoy your breakfasts."

As McGonagall retreated from the podium and talking promptly restarted, a bunch of fireworks went off at the end of the Gryffindor table. McGonagall sighed. Well, she _did_ tell them to get it out of their system…

The next morning, McGonagall put on her best robes, and a feeling of apprehension with them.

She didn't even know what she feared – was it the students making a fool of her and the school? Was it the embarrassment of Potter and the bathroom incident? Was it that that might overshadow the greatness of the restoration that had been put into Hogwarts? Was it... something else?

At 11 o'clock the delegates started arriving.

McGonagall greeted and thanked them for coming one by one. Madame Deliote arrived first with a small army of staff via sky carriage, wearing an extravagant light blue dress and made a show of making doves appear from her sleeves. Why the doves were necessary McGonagall wasn't sure, but one of them hit Trelawney in the face.

Durmstrang arrived shortly afterwards in their boat. After McGonagall greeted them, Madame Deliote repeated her dove trick and insisted everyone call her Sylvietta rather than Madame. After that she produced a box of French pastries right there in the courtyard, and flirted wildly with one of the Durmstrang delegates, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the other Beauxbatons delegate was still missing.

McGonagall's heart fluttered against all of her will. Where was he?

The delegates were starting to move inside; McGonagall stood on her tip toes and scouted out the courtyard – had he come with Deliote after all? Had she missed him?

"Madam," said an unexpected voice from behind her, "have you lost someone? May I be of assistance finding them?"

McGonagall spun around.

_He was twenty-two, and she was seventeen…_

"I am sorry for my lateness," said Marcus Giovanni, nodding towards his carriage, which was so small and had landed so quietly McGonagall had not even noticed it, "my Pegasus were startled by what I believe was a Thestral on the way here."

Those same deep blue eyes looked apologetically into hers and McGonagall could swear she was seventeen again. She nodded vaguely and they headed inside.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long it was until she could breathe properly again.


End file.
